At The Stroke of Midnight
by Heartsick for them
Summary: Syed's story, inspired by the events of New Year's Eve and New Year's Day. I know, I know, not what you expect, but why not?  I wish he were mine, but he is the creation of EastEnders and brought deliciously to life by Marc Elliott.
1. Chapter 1

At The Stroke of Midnight

"_NO! NO, CHRISTIAN, I DO NOT WANT TO GO TO THE VIC! I DON'T WANT TO SPEND TONIGHT WITH ROXY."_

"_Well, I do. This is New Year's eve and that means partying. There's gonna be a party at the Vic and I wanna be there. And you should be there with me!"_

"_Christian, don't you remember last New Year's eve? The kiss? How we spoke the next day, how I finally admitted I was gay. Our year , the marriage, what happened to us, how we came back together. Can't we just stay in? You can teach me that dance, we can watch this film, make love? Can't we be alone tonight?"_

"_We can do that any time of the year. Sy, this is New Year's eve. And I wanna party. Roxy is expecting me, us..."_

"_Why would I want to spend the night with Roxy? She thinks I'm dull."_

Christian looked angrily at Syed and shook his head. "_Well maybe she's right."_

Syed was stunned. He stood still and then, his voice shaking, quietly said, "_I never realized just how shallow you are."_

They glared at each other for a moment, and then Christian grabbed his jacket and rushed out the door. "_You know, I don't think I want you there after all. I wanna have fun and you will just get in the way. __Don't wait up for me. I don't know when I'll be home."_

After Christian slammed out of the flat, Syed sat there stone cold, stilled, thinking. They'd had their little tiffs before, living in such close quarters, working together, being such different people, but nothing like this. And even more than the words that were spoken was the painful realization that Christian had no idea what tonight meant to him and that he'd prefer to be in the pub than alone with him.

'_I'll phone Tamwar, see what he's doing tonight.' _Syed dialled Tamwar's mobile.

"_Hiya Tam. Can you talk?"_

"_Hello, Syed. Yeah, Mum and Dad are at the Queen Vic tonight, and I'm babysitting. Great. Wild life I have. I'll be the babysitter for life."_

"_Wanna come over? I thought we could watch a DVD and drink some orange juice at the new year!"_

"_Oh I can't, Syed. Just put Kamil down to sleep and i don't want to disturb him. Anyway, where's Christian?"_

"_Oh, he'll be back soon. H e just went to have a drink with Roxy." _ Syed's voice trailed off. He couldn't tell Tamwar the truth when he was already suspicious of Christian the party animal.

"_Okay little brother, happy New Year and see you soon. I love you."_

"_I love you too, Syed. I'll come see you tomorrow."_

Syed tried to settle down, watch telly, put on the video, but switched it all off. Nothing could distract him from the pain of this rejection from the man who once told him that he was enough for him, that all he needed was Syed. The loneliness was unbearable, the gnawing doubts were wrenching. He fingered his Qu'ran, read a few _suras, _and decided to go to the mosque, his home mosque. His parents were at the Vic and he really needed to speak to pray and think about what all of this meant.

As Syed approached, some of the men began to walk out towards him, but the Iman glared at them and hurried over to greet him.

"_As-Salāmu `Alaykum, brother Syed. How have you been? We missed you during Ramadan."_

"_As-Salāmu `Alaykum. I'm fine. I, I just thought it would be better to go to the other mosque, given, well, given everything that's happened."_

Syed walked in with the Imam and found a place to spread out his rug. He did the prescribed Friday prayers and then spent time in private conversation with Allah, pouring out his distress and asking him what to do, how to understand what had just happened.

Suddenly, he had the sensation that he was being watched. He looked up and into the most gentle and loving face he had encountered in the mosque since he came out.

"_Hi, I'm Farhan. You must be Syed."_

Syed looked quizzically at the man, who hurriedly added,

"_Let's go have a coffee and I'll explain everything to you."_

Syed was in turmoil, nervous, worried, but the other man just smiled and touched his arm.

"_Come on. It will be all right."_

"_Okay." _

As they walked out, the Imam gave an almost imperceptive nod and then turned to speak to some other men.

"_Syed, the Imam told me about you, that you're gay...no, don't run off. You see, the thing is, I'm gay, too. I'm the Iman's nephew, but you mustn't tell anyone. He told me that you'd spoken to him and about your suicide attempt and it changed him, Syed, it really did. He has to keep my relationship to him secret, but he is really trying to understand. And he's made me feel very welcome at the mosque, seeing off all the auntie's attempts to matchmake."_

Syed just stood there and stared.

"_The Imam told you about me?"_

"_Yes, he's been waiting for you to come back so he could introduce us. Come on, Syed, let's go get a coffee and talk."_

Syed nodded and followed the other man to the cafe. They ordered, and sat down at a table. Farhan told him his story.

"_In secondary school and uni, I had lots of girlfriends, really gorgeous women, but I didn't really feel anything for them. I told my dad once – he's an English convert, but he'd been a bit of a lad when he was younger. I thought he could give me some advise, but all he said was that I obviously hadn't met 'the one' and he and my mother would start to find me somebody. I never found the right girl, because I realized that there never could never be a right girl, and so I told my parents that I was going to move out so as not to cause them any shame. They phoned my uncle, who invited me here."_

Syed listened attentively. He so needed a friend outside of his Walford life, someone who would be there for him in the way that Roxy was there for Christian.

"_Your story's so much like mine, but I went and got married. I guess your uncle told you. Amira, a really beautiful woman. I loved her, I really did, but not like that, not like a man is supposed to love a woman. I hurt her; I'll never forgive myself for that."_

It was so easy to talk to him and a relief to be with him on New Year's eve. There were no battles about drinking and partying, he did not have to explain what you do in a mosque, nor what it was like to have a Zainab-type mother. They chatted about Farhan's studies and his work, and about Syed's massage course, about everything except Christian.

"_I'd sign up for one of your massages any day."_

Farhan smiled at Syed and Syed coughed on his drink and looked up. He wasn't used to men flirting with him. Farhan was, what would Christian call him, hot. He was 22, well built. The combination of Pakistani mother and Scottish father blended well in him, he was golden brown, with large dark eyes and silky hair...

'_Stop this. It isn't right.' _Syed pulled his thoughts away from the beauty of Farhan and changed the topic but Farhan was not so easily dissuaded.

" _You know, we've been talking for 2 hours, and you haven't mentioned your boyfriend once. What's his name..."_

"_Christian."_

"_Well that's a great name for the boyfriend of a devout Muslim! What's up, Syed, why aren't you with him tonight? I had the feeling that something was bothering you."_

Syed pursued his lips, shook his head.

"_I don't..."_

"_Come on Syed. Talk to me. What's wrong?"_

He looked up into those dark, lovely, sympathetic eyes, and told him everything, the whole story, of their love and their pain, of the year of living dangerously and the six months of living out and in the light. And then he told him about earlier in the evening.

Just as he finished, someone in the cafe turned the television up louder. "_And it's coming up to the midnight hour, and the new year 2011."_

Syed checked his phone quickly, to see if Christian had left him a message, but there was nothing. As he was putting it away, he was grabbed around the waist. _'10, 9, 8, 7'_

"_He's a pratt if he leaves a guy like you alone on New Year's eve." '6, 5, 4, 3, 2'_

At the stroke of midnight, Farhar wrapped Syed in his arms and kissed him through the pain and through the doubt, a kiss that lasted well into 2011.


	2. Chapter 2

At the Stroke of Midnight – chapter 2

Syed suddenly pulled away, his face twisted with disbelief and horror. He turned to flee, but Farhan caught his arm and spun him around.

"_Syed, don't run away. Please. I like you; I've never had a boyfriend, I've hardly done anything. This meant something to me. Please." _

Syed felt dizzy all of a sudden, as if the world was spinning him off, depositing him elsewhere. Who was he? What was he doing here? And why did he do what he did? Images of a pain-ridden 2010 tumbled around inside his head: the kiss in the kitchen, that heart-wrenching conversation in the cafe, his wedding, his rejection of Christian, all that he had put him through, a year full of heartache and heartbreak, but leading always and ever back to him, to Christian. And yet, here he was, a year after he finally owned up and claimed the other 3 words Christian had most wanted to hear: '_I am gay', _sharing with some other man what belonged to Christian alone.

He looked at Farhan again, and realized he was hurting him too now.

"_I am...so, so, sorry, I shouldn't have done that, I'm..." _Syed stuttered incoherently as his eyes welled up with tears.

"_Syed, please stop crying. Just speak to me." _

"_I love him; Christian. I've put him through so much this past year. I, I can't do this, Farhan, I just can't. Please. I don't want to run from you – I've done that in the past, too. But I just can't..." _

His voice trailed off, and he shook his head in disgust.

"_What kind of a person am I?"_

Farhan regarded him for a moment, then reached out and stroked his arm.

"_You're a wonderful person. But Syed, this must mean something, or you wouldn't be here with me. You know that. In your heart, you know that."_

Syed shuddered, shook his head sadly. He was tired, weighed down with guilt and grief, and needed to go. There was too much to consider, and he couldn't do that here, now, with Farhan.

"_I have to go now. Please let me go."_

Farhan took a piece of paper from his pocket, wrote something on it, and handed it to Syed.

"_This is my mobile number. Let me know how you are?" _

"_Okay." _He took the number, wrapped it up slowly into a tiny wedge, and stuffed it deep into his pocket. If only he could bury the kiss and his turmoil over it by wrapping it around and around until it was a small insignificant jot.

"_Femanallah, Syed." _

"_Femanallah, Farhan."_


	3. Chapter 3

AT THE STROKE OF MIDNIGHT – CHAPTER 3

Where do you go when that which you are seeking to hide from is yourself?

Syed wandered out into the night and approached a shop window. He stared at his reflection. He knew that his physical manifestation had not changed. It was he, hair, eyes, mouth, body. But who inhabited him? Who was this inner demon who had colonized him, replaced Syed with a monster?

He began to cry, such tears as he had not had in him since the last day he had seen his therapist, those purging tears which moved him from hell and began his journey, if not to paradise, then at least to real life. And now? What are these tears for? A journey of damnation?

'_Who am I? Who is this person that I suddenly became tonight, at the stroke of midnight? Am I then a cheat? I never claimed this for me when I kept my relationship with Christian throughout my engagement and my marriage – I was in love with him, but tied to her through family and faith, and I did love her, I wanted to love them both, give them both all of me, but I was not, I was not a 'cheat'.'_

'_Or was I? I embezzled money once – am I just that? A man who embezzles both money and love? An embezzler of hearts? Mum's? Dad's? Amira's? Christian's? Christian, the man whom I told was the most important person in my life? I, Syed, suspicious of everyone Christian meets, fearing the day he finds someone new, certain, absolutely convinced that, if either of us was going to cheat, it would be Christian.'_

He walked 'round and 'round, exhausted, and so cold, he thought that even the fires of hell could not warm him.

He stumbled, eyes drowning, obscuring his outlook, and fell, tearing his jeans. He lay there for a moment, knees stinging, a stance of prayer. He looked at his watch, thought about the morning prayers, and then realized that now, more than at any other time, he was unworthy to approach Allah. He had told his brother Tamwar that, despite his relationship with Christian, his love for a man, he was still a servant of Allah and that Allah had made him how he was. Allah approved because it was love - but this was wanton rebellion – He solitude burned through him – he sundered that relationship, too.

"_bink, bink."_

_It's 4 in the morning. Please come home. Christian._

It was time to go home. He struggled to rise from his fallen state, thought it a fair metaphor, and found the bus-stop.

'_It's dawn. The anniversary of my wedding, the anniversary of my revelation to my mother, and now and forever, the anniversary of my betrayal. This is not how this year was meant to begin.' _

When he arrived finally at Walford, he moved foot after foot until he reached the flat. His home, their home, his place of refuge, his comfort and rest. He had no right to it, nor to those qualities now.


	4. Chapter 4

AT THE STROKE OF MIDNIGHT – CHAPTER 4

Christian was hunched over on the sofa, mouth open, eyes like balloons, hugging his cushion. He had dozed off during his vigil, all of the alcohol drained from him, replaced by a jittery mix of anxiety and anguish. When he heard the door open, his head fell back and then forwards, and he looked up, hesitating, eyes filled with pain, and with guilt.

"_Where've you been?" _

He choose an even tone, but Syed heard a hint of waver, read the remorse in his face. He remained silent, but a silence in which Christian read in a reproach...

"_Sy, Syed...I...I am so, so...sorry for what I said..."_

Syed moved silently into the kitchen and Christian rose to follow him in. He could not believe the state of him, torn jeans, red-rimmed eyes, his beautiful hair tangled and dull.

"_You look like you've been at a wild party yourself."_

Syed stared at him. Christian shrugged ruefully, moved towards him, touched his arm; Syed looked down at his arm, at the hand on his arm, and shivered. Christian removed the hand and moved toward the refrigerator.

"_Christian, we have to talk."_

Syed's lovely lilt now dulled, flat. Christian glanced up at his forlorn lover and simply said,

"_Yeah, I know. I know we do. Go, get out of those clothes, take a shower. You're freezing. I'll make us a hot drink, and then, we can talk."_

Syed went into the bathroom and took off his clothes, showered, wrapped himself in his green dressing gown, and went back into the room. He moved like a zombie, lifeless, depleted.

The two men sat on the settee, clutching their cups of cocoa, and sipped, not touching, not speaking, not at peace.

"_Syed, I didn't mean it. I really didn't mean it. Please believe me..."_

Christian took Syed's jaw tenderly in his hands, guided his face around, until they sat face to face.

"_You are not dull, I never for a moment feel anything other than excited and intrigued by you. But - you are right about me, Sy. I am shallow – sometimes, anyway..."_

"_Please Christian, don't look at me like that. You have brought no shame to our relationship. But I have."_

This time, Christian was silent, as a distraught Syed spilled over with words,

"_I was so angry with you, Christian. I wanted to stay in with you and celebrate last night, to turn the anniversary of my wedding and that moment of horror with my mother, into a memory of why in the end it was all worth it, why I am here, how happy we are and will be in the coming year. I wanted to be with you, whose touch makes my heart stop, but you, ou didn't want to be here...So I went out..."_

Syed told him about the call to Tamwar, the visit to the mosque, the surprising encounter with the Imam and his secret nephew, the visit to the cafe...

"_At midnight...at midnight, Farhan stood up, pulled me to him, and kissed me. And..." Syed faltered, then lowered his voice to a whisper, "I kissed him back, Christian, I kissed him back."_

Syed choked out his confession, glanced at Christian, then looked away. Christian was stony silent for a moment, clutching his cushion, then he moaned, dropped the cushion, and covered his mouth with his hands, as if to stifle his despair.

"_You kissed him back." _He finally said. "_Why Sy? Why would you do that? We had a fight. All couples have fights, say things they don't mean. We've had fights before. Why Syed, why this?"_

"_I'm a cheat, Christian. I cheated my parents, I cheated Amira, I cheated you. Why are you so surprised?"_

Syed's self-pitying tone grated on Christian, he grabbed his arm roughly, dragging him around until they were facing each other. His tone was bitter.

"_Leave it out, Syed. That's just too easy. You tell me why."_

"_Christian..."_

" _You promised me that you would try to talk about your feelings more. I need you to do that . me. why."_

Syed pulled his arm away and sank back into the settee. The pain of what he was doing would not go away, and he needed to understand it and explain it to Christian. He owed him that much.

"_I don't really..know. This past year, until I left my parents to come and live with you, it was a nightmare. You know all of it – what I put you through, what I did to Amira. Now, my parents ignore me, they have buried me alive. I have a baby brother they won't let me see. What did the Queen once say? Annus Horribulus? I just need some quiet time in. That's fun to me, Christian, being in, talking to you, watching a video, making love, reading. I don't need anything else. Funny, you once said that to me , that I was all you needed. And yet, all you want to do is go out and get drunk and be with Roxy. Have fun..." _

"_So this is my fault now?" _

"_No, it's my fault. Maybe I am too dull for you. I'm a Muslim, Christian. I go to mosque, pray 5 times a day. I don't eat pork and I don't drink. I like to read the Qu'ran. I can't stand watching people getting drunk, making fools of themselves, fighting, vomiting. And I have trouble with that side of you, too."_

Christian just sat there, feet on the ground, his back caved in, hugging the cushion, his stubbly face drawn and haggard. Syed stopped speaking, fell back into the sofa, and assumed once more the mantle of silence.

"_Let's go to sleep now. I don't want to speak any more, Syed."_

"_Okay. I'll stay here on the sofa and you can have the..."_

Syed's voice trailed off as Christian sobbed and lifted his head to the ceiling.

"_Let's go to bed, Christian. I just thought you wouldn't want me in your bed tonight."_

"_My____bed." He cried out, "For me, it is still __our__ bed, Syed."_

Syed took him by the hand, and led him to the bed. He slid off his dressing gown, helped him lie down, noting in his distress that this was the first time since those days after Christian was beaten up that he, Syed, moved into the role of protector. He remembered with a shudder that the beating was his fault, too.

He went to the bathroom and got a facecloth, ran warm water over it, wrung it out, then gently wiped Christian's face and eyes and the top of his head. He remembered from his childhood that this tender maternal gesture always calmed and soothed him. Christian snored softly.

Syed got into bed too, and covered them both up. This was the first time since they'd been together that they avoided touch, that Syed did not ache for his caresses. For now, he was devoid of thought and feeling, or almost devoid. One thought remained. Some part of him withheld approval from Christian, and that they, or rather, he, needed to sort out.

He, too, slid into dulled sleep. It was 9:00 in the morning, New Year's Day.


	5. Chapter 5

AT THE STROKE OF MIDNIGHT – CHAPTER 5

Syed felt the light pounding on his eyes, like a foretaste of the fires of hell that felt like his destiny. He opened his eyes into the daylight, and turned on his side to regard his somnolent lover. Christian was gray, unshaven, snoring, through the weight of anxiety and alcohol. Syed was aware of feeling nothing, could not recapture any of that which seemed oh so clear earlier that morning. He had no idea what had happened and, even more importantly, why it had happened.

As he lay there willing Christian to wake and somehow make it clear for him as he always had in the past, Christian suddenly awoke, noticed Syed's piercing stare, and quickly turned and got up.

"I'll make us some coffee" was all he said, his voice giving no clues, no hints, and no insights.

"Thanks."

Syed got up and showered and dressed and came back in. In the meanwhile, Christian had also taken the opportunity hastily to dress. They sat at opposite ends of the settee. Syed thought ruefully that someday someone could have put a blue plaque on that sofa which read: Here lay Christian and Syed, on their backs and on their fronts, in their passion and in their play. But not now. Now they sat in their silence and in their separation.

"You asked me last night if I found you too dull for me. But what you said was that you had trouble with my drinking and my partying, my way of having fun. Which one of us is the one with the problem, Sy, me...or is it you?"

Syed remained silent.

Christian gave a bitter snort. "So we're back at this place, you angrily spouting off at me, and then sitting there _silent_ when I ask you to tell me what is going on inside of you. Which one is it, Sy, which one do you really believe? Is it that I find you too dull, or that you find me too disgusting?"

"Christian, I gave up my wife, my family, the respect and standing I had in my community, for you, and..."

Christian interrupted him. "I am sick of your litany. I gave up alot for you, too, Syed, that year I waited for you. And I have 'given up' my old life. I don't go out and party like I used to. When I go clubbing now, it's with Roxy and you, when you'll get off your high horse and come, and I never ever go home with other men."

He stopped, and laughed, that painful disdainful laugh that always cut through Syed. "You always thought I would cheat on you, I would 'go back to my bad habits.' I gave that all up for you, for us, I told you that. I didn't miss anything, because I had you." And then more quietly, "I thought I had you."

Christian's phone dinged into the quiet that hung over them.

_Hey babe, did Syed come home last night?_

He texted her back, _Yes and no._

_What? What's going on, Christian? Meet me at the Vic?_

_Don't feel like it._

_Sounds like you need to, though. Come on babe, I'll be there in 5 minutes._

Christian looked at Syed sitting there stone cold and still and texted back _make it 10._

"I'm going to get out of your way, Sy. I'm going to have a drink with Roxy. When you decide how you feel about me, let me know. I said that to you once before, and it took months for you really to tell me. Don't leave it too long. I can't believe that 6 months into our dream-come-true, you and me at home, together, that we are sitting here like this..."

The tears gathered at the edges of his eyes, but he wiped them away and added brusquely, "I will not cry again over you as I cried for that year I waited for you."

_Bleep, bleep._

Syed glanced down at his phone and dully noted that there was a message there from Farhan. _Syed, how are you? Can we meet? We should speak."_

Christian spoke very quietly. "Is that him?"

Syed could not look him in the face. He shifted his head around, scanning the room, until Christian's sharp voice fell upon him.

"IS THAT HIM?"

"Yes."

"Does he want to see you?"

"Yes."

And now Syed looked up and at Christian, full on, deep into his eyes and waited, for his sentence, for instructions, for whatever he wanted to tell him.

"Then go see him" He didn't ask Syed if he wanted to see him, just knew he had to send him there even if it was killing him. And then he got up, threw on a jacket and walked carefully out of the door.

Syed sat there for a moment, looked around the flat, and then texted Farhan _meet me at the cafe across from the mosque in 10 minutes._

And then he too got up and walked out the door. He didn't dare to look back.


	6. Chapter 6

AT THE STROKE OF MIDNIGHT – CHAPTER 6

Christian took a big swig of his pint, and turned his face towards her, the tears he so resolutely wiped away now rolling down his face. He told her what had happened.

"He's with the guy now. Farhan. And maybe he won't come home, Roxy."

He downed hi s pint and ordered another, and tears were pursued by anger.

"Maybe he'll stay with this guy... and the Massods will forgive him because, at least he's with a Muslim, and not some heathen."

Roxy shook her head and laid a hand on Christian's arm.

"Christian, you are so better off without him. I mean, what do you see in him anyway. He's no fun, and when you are with him, you're no fun. All he does is moan and drink orange juice. You could do so much better, I mean look at you. And leaving that aside, you're back in that terrible place you spent most of the past year in. Miserable. And all because of him. Let him go."

Christian slammed his drink down on the bar.

" You just don't get it, do you? Phff, just piss off and leave me alone. Why the fuck do I talk to you?"

Christian tore her hand from his arm and went to stand, but she stilled him and said,

"Okay, so tell me. What is it about him, because honestly, Christian, you two are so star-crossed that you exist in different galaxies. I want to understand. So tell me."

"" He was my friend, we were friends first. That was new for me, too. We were mates, we had a laugh, worked together. We liked each other. That maybe also have been new. The first time we kissed, the first time we made love, oh babe, it was magic. Our lovemaking, it was beautiful. His eyes , his hair, his body, all of him, just beautiful."

"Okay, okay, so you fancy him. Haven't you ever fancied anyone else?"

"Not like this, Roxy, not like this."

"All right, so you lust after him, but what do you talk about? What on earth do you two find to talk about? I mean, come on Christian."

"Syed is funny, really funny, does this kind of deadpan humour with a twinkle in his eye. We laugh alot. We argue about politics – he's so conservative, and me, I'm Labour all the way. He reads alot and tells me about what he is reading. We talk about our lives, we dream about our futures, we sit and hold hands and watch DVDs. I show him how to exercise and he demonstrates his massage techniques on me. And there's his religion. He thinks about God, and death, and what it means to be a good person, and what it means to be a Muslim in England today. I learn so much from him. He gives me the gift of himself. And I haven't begun to know all that is there within in. He's sweet, and he's gentle and kind, but he can also be angry, jealous, a human being like all of us. He needs me, to take care of him, protect him, and let the world in on him and then shut it out when it is too much for him. And for that, I get back love and that way he looks at me, like I am the most important thing in the whole world. That's what he said to me in front of his brother. He calls me his superman and with him, I feel like I could leap tall buildings. I love him, Roxy. And maybe we should wonder what he sees in me. And I am sick of everyone telling me that I could do so much better, that we are mismatched. "

"Ah babe. " Roxy wrapped her arms around the sobbing Christian and held him until he sighed and pulled back from her.

"I'm all right. Thanks. He's with Farhan now. That guy. And I feel like my heart is being torn out yet again. I don't know if I can go through that all over again."

He glanced at his still empty mobile screen, then laid back into the seat, as if he wished he could become one with him. He shut his eyes and let the noise roll around him, and imagined himself back at home, cuddling and fucking his lover. He sighed once more and then let his eyes and his head and his heart rest there for awhile.

Meanwhile, a couple of miles away, Syed sat in a cafe and waited for Farhan. He ordered a coffee and began doodling on the napkin. And then, pen in mouth, an idea occurred and he began scribbling things down in two neat columns.

"Hi, Syed, _As-Salāmu `Alaykum."_

"_As-Salāmu `Alaykum_, Farhan."

"Let me get you a coffee."

"All right. Thanks. I'll have a cappuccino."

Syed went and got the cappuccino, and placed it in front of Farhan. He tried to catch Syed's eyes, coax a smile, but Syed squirmed and gave his eyes permission to dart around the cafe.

"Listen, I know you were upset and I didn't want to leave it like that last night. I'm sorry if I came on to you after you told me you were with someone, but you didn't say no and I like you, Syed, and I want to get to know you better. I think we would be good together. This guy, Christian, you say you love him, but what do you really have together? He likes to drink, way too much, and go out with his girlfriend while you sit at home, and dance and get hammered. He thinks life is a laugh. He worries about his body, but not about his soul. What life can you have with him? Isn't being gay hard enough as a Muslim? You and I, we have so much more in common. Please, Syed, give us a chance."

Syed was too polite, too tired, to be angry. He just sat there staring at the paper napkin for a long time, and then looked up and into Farhan's eyes. Farhan cupped his fingers around Syed's thumb, a move designed to be both suggestive and romantic, but Syed drew his hand back and away and rubbed his thumb on his trousers.

"You speak about him, but you don't know him. You know nothing about him or about us. You're right. He drinks and sometimes too much, and when he's with Roxy and drunk, he's childish and silly. And no, he is not a Muslim, not religious at all. I made a list, like my mother told me to make when I had to choose between two things. So here it is, Farhan, the ticks in 'your' column. Muslim, tick. Pakistani family, tick. University graduate, tick. Non-drinker, tick. Loves to read, tick. Loves galleries, tick. Hates clubs and pubs, tick. If we were on . com, we'd be perfect. Tick all the right boxes."

"And in Christian's column?"

Syed exhaled and regarded Farhan in silence before he responded.

"In Christian's column. One word. Love. I love him,he makes my heart stop. Even when I am angry with him, I look at him and my whole being is filled with love for him. I adore him. And you don't do that to me. Not when we kissed, not when you touched me now, you do not take my breath away. He does."

"And out of bed?" Farhan sneered.

"That's not about bed, Farhan. But we talk all the time, about our pasts, about our future. We dream together. We go out and laugh. He's loud, out there, the life of the party, fun and funny. He reads the papers and argues about the country with me. He's kind, the best friend anyone could have, and cares for everyone in his life. He is loyal, and he loves me, and wants nothing more than to make me happy. He is patient and good, and even if he doesn't believe in God, I know Allah would be happy with the person he is. And yes, Farhan, he is gorgeous and takes pride in that, and loves to help others become as gorgeous as they can be. He's not greedy and he's not ambitious in the way that some of us can be. He just wants to do some good in life and make enough money to be comfortable. He is my superman and I gave up everything for him, because he is everything to me. "

Farhan smiled ruefully at Syed and shrugged his shoulders.

"And last night?"

"I don't know what happened last night. Today is the anniversary of my wedding, a year since I said aloud that I was gay, to him, to my mother, and most of all, to myself. I stopped pretending that day that I was able to marry and put this aside, that it wasn't who I was, but it took me another 6 months to be true to it and to myself, and to give him, Christian, what he wanted and waited for, what had been his for a year. Me. I, I guess I was very needy. I'm sorry, Farhan, I didn't mean to use you. I really like you. But not like that. And if you can forgive me, I would love to have you as my friend. I need a friend, someone from my own world who is like me and who can maybe understand my family and my community and what Allah wants of me."

Syed pulled his lip in and waited, head cocked, willing him to forgive him and fill the one gap that he had in his life. A friend from his world. Farhan studied his hands for a moment, then looked up, nodded and smiled.

" There's nothing to forgive. And yes, Syed, I can do that. I can be your friend and one day, maybe his friend too. He's lucky to have you."

"No. I'm the lucky one."

"Let's go to mosque. It's nearly time for _asr_".

They stood and hugged each other and then went across to the mosque. Syed prayed hard to Allah that afternoon. Farhan might have forgiven him, but now he needed to beg forgiveness from Allah. He prostrated himself and contemplated who he had been and all that he wanted to become.

'Am I a cheat? How can I atone for all the hurt I have caused. And why am I still causing hurt.'

He prayed and wept, asked for _Tawbah_ and_ Istighfar_, and pledged to Allah that he would be different, that the Syed who lied and cheated would no longer master him. After his prayers, he felt the calm that had eluded him for days, and he rose and found Farhan. He told him that he would phone and get together with him soon, but that he needed to go home now.

_Christian, will you meet me at home in 15 minutes?_

Nothing, nothing, nothing, he was almost home, when the reply came.

_Be there in a minute._

He went in, tossed his jacket over a chair, and sat on the settee to wait.


	7. Chapter 7

AT THE STROKE OF MIDNIGHT – CHAPTER 7

Christian came in to the flat in turmoil, carrying with him a lingering trace of resentment and anger - and a touch of fear. But when he entered the flat, there were candles lit on the table, and Syed was dressed in his black shirt, the one Christian loved. Puzzled, expectant, hopeful, yet he held something back, closed his heart ever so slightly and waited to hear what Syed had to say.

"I'm nervous." Syed said with a quaver, and then Christian looked into Syed's eyes, tossing aside their beauty to find his spirit. Syed met his look, steadily, and gave himself permission to let Christian see right in that night, through his eyes and into his heart and soul.

Christian remained silent.

"I am truly sorry for what I said to you and even more sorry for what I did."

Christian waited. Syed had to do the work this time and he could not and would not help him out.

"I hadn't dealt with it properly, Christian, not with what I did to Amira and my family by lying, to myself, by not being myself, and to you, who stood and watched me pledge my life and devotion, not to the you who had it already and to whom it belonged, but to someone else. Last night was anniversary of the night you came back from Spain for me, when you came and you claimed me there in that kitchen. And still I trampled on us. And today a year ago, I thought I was being brave and honest by 'admitting' I was gay, but at every point that I could have stood by what I said, I made my brave gestures just that. Gestures, empty gestures. I hated myself last night and you weren't there to tell me that it was all alright. Farhan did."

Christian felt his heart flutter and his stomach tumble about, but forced himself to speak, masking pain with sarcasm.

"Do you want to leave me and be with him, someone who will never go out and get drunk on New Year's eve, never embarrass you at a party?"

Syed smiled and shook his head slowly, all the while looking at Christian, forcing Christian to sink into his eyes and find the truth there.

"No, Christian, I don't want to leave and be with Farhan. I want to be with you."

Christian tightened his lips and looked at Syed for a moment, torn between head and heart, and for once, determined to make the two partners in a decision.

"Syed, I gave up many things for you and for us, but I am who I am. I'm the man who likes a few drinks now and then, to be in a party, to have a laugh with Roxy, not to worry about what people think about how I am behaving. I'm almost 40, and this decision, to live with you and love you and call you my life partner, that's a big one. You are everything to me, but not the only thing in my life. Do you know what I'm saying?"

Syed nodded and waited for him to continue.

"You fell in love with me, as I was, as I am. If you can accept that side of me, fine. You don't have to approve, or even understand, as long as you don't disapprove. Same with me and you going to the mosque. It's who you are. Don't you think it works both ways, that I sometimes wish you would loosen up and come out dancing and drinking and having a laugh? But I know that's not you. We're not here to make each other miserable, to stop the other from being themself. That's not what I want. If you can accept that, fine. If you can't, then honestly Sy, I can't see us going on."

Syed moved closer to Christian on the settee and took his hands.

"I can, Christian, and I hope you can accept that I sometimes just need to be at home, quiet, safe, just the two of us, sometimes just me alone."

Christian moved closer and took Syed in his arms.

"It's not going to be easy," he murmured into his hair.

"I know, " Syed mumbled back. "No happily ever after"

Christian pulled back and held his head in his hands. "Yes to the ever after. And maybe add 'mostly' to the 'happily.'

"That's the best anyone can promise another person," answered Syed as he shifted his legs onto Christian's lap and wrapped them around his waist.

And then, just at the stroke of midnight they kissed.

"Happy new year, Sy."

"Happy new year, Christian."

THE END

Thanks to those who read this and went with me on what I know was an uncomfortable and unorthodox excursion. I had many other ideas for this story, but thought it better to end it now and let the boys move on. I hope you are happy with where I left them!


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